


Bitch, I Might Be

by imagining_supernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cleaning, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gender-neutral Reader, Insomnia, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, like you can interpret this however you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagining_supernatural/pseuds/imagining_supernatural
Summary: Classic Dean helps Reader sleep plot





	Bitch, I Might Be

          It’s three o’ fucking clock in the morning and I’m cleaning the bunker’s kitchen. Why? No idea. I mean, Sam keeps it clean enough. The Winchesters aren’t slobs. Actually, they’re cleaner than I am. I’m the token dirty roommate in this trio.

          Which brings me back to the question: Why the hell am I cleaning the kitchen at three a.m.?

          Well, really, I should be asking the questions: Why the hell can’t I sleep? Where the hell did all of this energy come from?

          I spend all day yawning and wishing for time to take a nap, but then night rolls around when I  _should_  be sleeping and I  _can’t_. It’s torture of the worst kind.

          “Dude?” Dean’s tired, muffled voice snaps me away from my internal screaming and I turn off the water in the sink. There’s enough water to wash the remaining dishes by now anyway.

          I toss a glance over my shoulder at his squinty, obviously just barely awake, slumped shoulder form before turning back to the dishes. I shouldn’t be this happy that someone else is awake, but  _god_  having only my own company is horrible. I. Just. Don’t. Shut. Up. How do other people put up with me? Honestly, if I talk even half as much as I think, then it’s a wonder that no one has punched me just to shut me up.

          “What are you doing out here?”

          “What are  _you_  doing out here?” He throws right back my way. “Are you… are you  _cleaning_?”

          “Bitch, I might be,” I mumble, slightly offended but not at all surprised by his shock.

          He shuffles over and grabs my chin in his hand. After yanking my head to face him, he presses the back of his other hand to my cheeks and forehead, as if checking for a fever. “You okay? Are you possessed by some clean-freak ghost?”

          Hmm. I pause to consider that option. After all, ghosts didn’t need sleep. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t sleeping. Slowly, and in a slightly curious voice, I repeat my earlier words, “Bitch, I might be?”

          He just chuckles and leans against the counter while I go back to washing the dishes. I seriously can’t stop moving. My whole body is buzzing like a hive of wasps. I can’t slow down. It’s almost physically impossible.

          “Alright, what’s really going on? You never do dishes, and you always go to sleep as early as you can and sleep as late as Sam lets you. You’re like a bear in hibernation, but all the time. And now you’re  _cleaning_  at the asscrack of midnight?”

          “Buddy, if you can tell me what’s going on, I will literally give you my life savings because I have no fucking idea why I can’t slow down right now.” I turn to him with my best sad puppy dog face and whined, “I just wanna go to sleeeeep! But I can’t!”

          Apparently, my borderline childish antics got to him, because he came up behind me and literally lifts my arms out of the soapy dishwater, grabs a towel, and dries me off. “First off, we’re going to leave these dishes to someone who has experience cleaning—”

          “Hey! I know how to clean!”

          “And I’m going to get you to go to sleep because I know that grumpy Y/N is not a Y/N that I like to deal with.”

          “Grumpy Y/N is not a nice person,” I agree wholeheartedly. There’s no use getting offended over something that truthful.

          “I like well-rested, happy Y/N.”

          “That seems to be the general consensus.”

          Dean has me tucked under his arm and is guiding me through the hallways by this point. We pass my bedroom, which meant one thing.

          “You’re gonna let me sleep in your room?” I ask excitedly, looking up at him with a bright face like a kid on Christmas morning.

          “Bitch, I might be,” he mutters with a half-smile.

          “You have the best bed in all of Kansas!”

          I’d tried many times to get him to switch mattresses with me. He’s held steadfast, though. One of these days I’ll manage to just steal it. It’s going to happen. I’m determined.

          He pushes the door open to his room and I immediately jump onto the bed, twisting in the air so I land on my back. The soft padding gives way and I bounce a few times before settling into the magical marshmallow-like fluff.

          “Mmm, just like a cloud,” I mumble happily with closed eyes. If I can’t get to sleep on this bed, then I won’t be able to go to sleep anywhere.

          Then the mattress dips and Dean is pushing me over towards the other side.

          “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you under the impression that I’m going to be sharing your bed?” I refuse to budge. I still have way too much energy to give up any ground.

          “It’s  _my_  bed. You’re lucky I’m letting you sleep here at all.”

          “If I even get to sleep,” I mutter. It seems like an unattainable goal. No matter how many times I yawn, I just can’t get my body to calm down.

          Dean finally gets me to move so I’m mostly on one half of the bed. “Lay down. Don’t move. Try to turn off your brain.”

          “Like I didn’t try that five hours ago in my own bed? You’ve gotta have something better than that if you want to avoid Grumpy Y/N.”

          “If you don’t go to sleep or let me go to sleep, then you’ll have a Grumpy Dean in the morning.”

          “We’ll both be grumpy. Sam will have to deal with us. It’ll be okay.”

          After a minute or two, Dean managed to convince me to at least try to go to sleep again and I finally retreat to a half of the bed so I wasn’t taking up three quarters of it. In the dark room with his familiar smell that I related  _safety_  with surrounding me, I can finally feel my body start to relax. My muscles unclench and it’s like I could feel my blood start flowing slower. Did blood really flow slower when you went to sleep? I don’t know. But that’s what it felt like.

          “You getting sleepy yet?” Dean’s quiet voice from behind me came a second before I felt him shift until he was spooning me from behind.

          “Bitch, I might be,” I mumble back. “Are you a cuddler, Dean Winchester?”

          “Bitch,” he mumbles against my neck, “I might be.”

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on my blog and my favorite comment someone left was: "Dean Winchester, are you in love with me?" "Bitch, I might be."  
> So, like if you read this as platonic, great! If you didn't, you aren't alone!


End file.
